


The Genetic Inheritance affair, 4: Lost innocent

by Hypatia_66



Series: The Genetic Inheritance Affair [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: section7mfu, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: Illya must be told.





	The Genetic Inheritance affair, 4: Lost innocent

**Lost innocent**

 

It would be a pity to waste the surgeon’s work with another fight, so Illya was grounded until his face assumed a more acceptable appearance, and his nose was mended. There was no sound in the office but the rattle of his typewriter and the scratching of Napoleon’s pen. When the latter’s communicator sounded and Waverly’s voice spoke, he rose in preparation to attend the presence. “See you for lunch, I hope,” he said, glancing at his watch as he left.

“I’ll be in the canteen if you’re late,” and the pounding of keys resumed.

oo000oo

“Take a seat, Mr Solo.” The pipe was in evidence, but no files. Napoleon sat down and waited. Mr Waverly was frowning and seemed at a loss for words.

“I … there is a problem…”

“Yes, sir?”

Waverly took the plunge, and said, “This is a very delicate matter, Mr Solo. It concerns your partner.”

“Illya? What about him?”

“It’s a personal matter that must be shared with no-one else.”

Napoleon was mystified. He knew Illya better than anyone in UNCLE – probably better than anyone in the world. What on earth was this about?

“Something he should…, something I think he _needs_ , to know… You won’t have forgotten a distressing episode in your lives some seven months ago?”

Napoleon thought back – so many missions, so many more-or-less distressing incidents – how was he supposed to remember one particular one? Oh, wait – not, _that_ one?

“Miss Mc-something? do you mean that business, sir? Has Thrush found her?”

“Yes, that business, and no, they haven’t. Miss McAndrew has given birth to a son, with black hair and olive skin…”

Napoleon, about to speak, stopped when Waverly lifted a hand and continued, “She also gave birth to a daughter, a seven-month infant with fair hair and a light skin.”

Napoleon sat up, and then, aghast, said, “Are you saying that … that child is, … Sir, what _are_ you saying!”

“That a rare second conception occurred during that wretched episode. The mother thinks it would be unfair to tell Mr Kuryakin now because, very sadly, that poor innocent child has died. I am inclined to disagree, but I’d like your views.”

Napoleon dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered.

“There is to be a funeral. Would he want to go – should he be told of it? It’s a difficult question, I know.”

There was no question in Napoleon’s mind. “He should be told. He’d never forgive us if he found out.”

“There will be a car for us, if he wishes to go,” said Waverly, who had expected this response.

Napoleon now realised why he had been called. “You want me to tell him.”

“It might come best from you, Napoleon.” The unusual informality was a mark of the old man’s concern.

oo000oo

Illya looked up as Napoleon came in. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked. “What have you been given to do?”

“Illya,” he began. All the way back, he had thought of consolatory words, phrases, sentiments to say, and could use none of them. “Illya,” he repeated.

“That _is_ my name, Napoleon. What’s the problem?”

“He’s asked me to tell you … to give you some bad news.”

Illya looked surprised, then anxious. “What sort of bad news? That I’ve been _recalled_? Is that it?”

“No, no, nothing like that. No, it’s Helena McAndrew… She’s given birth.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“There are _two_ babies, Illya – one dark, full-term and one … fair, and premature.”

There was a moment of silence, then Illya’s chair screeched on the polished floor as he came to his feet and tried to speak.

“Wait, Illya… She, the baby is … She didn’t survive… I’m sorry.”

The desolate cry that broke from him tore Napoleon’s heart but, in his shock, Illya was unaware of having uttered it.

“The doctor called Mr Waverly – that’s where he went. He’s very distressed for you… There’ll be a car if you want to go to the funeral.”

“Did he see her?”

 “The baby? Yes, when she was alive but very sick.”

“Has she been named?”

“I don’t know. Sorry.”

“I have to see him. The funeral must be done properly,” Illya’s voice cracked, and he fled.

oo000oo

Napoleon sat in front with the driver; Illya and Mr Waverly at the back. Mr Waverly wore a black tie and armband, the two younger men black suits and ties. Conscious of the silence behind him, Napoleon engaged the driver in easy conversation to cover it.

At the hospital, there was the problem of the birth certificate to resolve. The space for the father’s name, left blank, now contained Illya’s name, written in Cyrillic and transliterated correctly here into English.

The little coffin remained open and covered in flowers as Illya had requested. The doctor stood beside it waiting for him. Everything but the mass of flowers was white: the room, the coffin itself, the child’s clothes, her father’s face.

He gazed down at his daughter for a while and walked once around the coffin, anti-clockwise, then he bent and kissed her. Waverly and Napoleon followed and each laying a hand on Illya’s shoulders felt him shaking.

“Illya,” Napoleon said, quietly, “the baby’s mother is outside. Will you see her?”

“Yes, of course,” said Illya.

Helena came in with the doctor, and Illya turned and held out his hand. They spoke softly, words that no-one else heard. She put her arm round him and hugged him, just for a moment.

oo000oo

Illya and Napoleon carried the casket, which bore a brass plate with the name Perdita Eliana McAndrew and the dates of her short life, to the graveside. The burial service continued; the mourners cast earth into the grave and moved away. Illya remained, his head bowed, with Napoleon’s arm round his shoulders.

Mr Waverly stuffed a damp handkerchief back into his pocket and returned to the car to wait for them.

**ooo0000ooo**

**Author's Note:**

> Eliana is, in Hebrew, the feminine form of Elias/Elijah/Ilya, and means God has answered. In Greek it means daughter of the sun, and is related to the name Eleni, or Helen.
> 
> LJ Short affair challenge 5 March 2018. Prompts: stuffed, white


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